The Mission
by Raefire6
Summary: Years into the future, after the world disaster that Lex Luthor created, a single survivor struggles to find a way to fight back and save her world. AU and OC's
1. Chapter 1

_Personal Log: First entry_

I'm not supposed to be emotional. Bruce has told me that a million times. But how can I, now that I'm all alone, ignore the feelings that continue to haunt me? How can I, Mom? Dad? How can I be like Bruce? All I know is that sanity is an uphill battle now, and to keep it I need some sense of companionship, something to help me hold on. That's why I'm typing this to you, Mom and Dad; even though I know you'll never read it. We never met, but you have been my only friends through this impossible time. You know, besides Bruce. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can almost see your smiling face, Dad, with your dark shaggy hair that Mom never wanted you to trim. And Mom, I can almost remember your laugh and see your beautiful red curls that Dad had loved so much. I can't forget that. Don't ask me to. Please.

It's been three years since Bruce's death, and looking back I doubt either of you would believe half of it. I'm not even sure I do, but if Bruce taught me anything it's that nothing is impossible and I've clung to that belief like a lifeline throughout those long years. But don't be afraid for me, guys. It's not as bad as it sounds. Let me reassure you of one thing: I'm not the same girl I was when Bruce died. I have changed. The world has changed. I think you both deserve an explanation as to what has happened, a story if you will. Like the ones Bruce used to tell me every night about his previous adventures with the both of you. Things started really going crazy about three months after Bruce's death, when I decided to take the chance of my first mission. Alone. It probably wasn't the smartest idea, but, as you know, sometimes you just have to jump to be able to fly…

I crouched behind the small tree, hiding in the shadows of the forest. My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness but, I noticed with frustration, there were still limitations to how far I could see. I silently cursed myself for forgetting the night vision goggles back at the cave and being stupid enough as not to go back for them. Now, in the darkness of the late evening, I would have to proceed even more cautiously than I had planned because of my limited vision. From my position behind the tree, I glanced at the small light coming from the little house. From what I knew about the occupants, I could very well be walking right into a trap. Kent was no fool; Bruce's files had stressed that fact. If I was to convince them I was a friend, I had to make it inside before they fried me. And… I had no idea how to do that.

"Some superhero," I whispered in disgust, shivers dancing almost painfully along my spine. I glanced down at the dark clothing I had selected for this mission. The silent boots had been a gift from Bruce, the dark jeans were taken from Alfred's old closet, and the black trench coat was discovered abandoned in an ally-way one night on stakeout and was still tainted with the smell of smoke. My long red hair that I inherited from you, Mom, was pulled up and out of the way into a loose bun, hanging to my shoulders, though every once in a while a stray hair escaped from the clip and annoyingly fell in front of my face. I nervously fingered the faded white pearl necklace that I never removed from around my neck. How silly it is to think of, huh Mom and Dad? A little girl dressing up like an escaped convict and sneaking into someone else's house to try and collect some allies to fight against the Chancellor of America all because some crazy old dude asked her to.

I sighed. _He wasn't just some crazy old dude_, I thought sadly. _He was my friend._ Determination filled my heart. I had to do this. For him, for you guys and for me.

I glanced at the small house again. It had a small frame, old fashioned in style. I guessed the make to be long before the Great Crisis, and the model to have been custom built. The color was a dull white that was peeled in several places. I shook my head. It must have been built a very long time ago to still have used paint. The design seemed strangely familiar and I suddenly recognized it as the old farmhouses that used to occupy Kansas, back when it was a state. _He must have built it himself_, I mused, _wanting it to look as much like his home as possible._

A small noise echoed across the forest and I realized there were voices coming from the house. I wondered briefly why anyone would be up at such a late hour, but I pushed the thought aside. After all, _I_ was up at this late hour. As carefully as I could manage with my limited vision, I stalked towards the unsuspecting house. I discovered within the first few steps that the uneven ground was covered with rocks and pine nettles, making sneaking across without anyone hearing my every footstep very near impossible. Thankfully, Bruce had taught me to be prepared for anything.

Reaching into the titanium-plated belt that was strapped to my waist, I carefully pulled a small device from one of the compartments. It was shaped like a small donut, a circular piece of mental, dark black in color and no thicker than my little finger, with the shiny metal bat-insignia gleaming in the distant moonlight. There was a series of small rectangular buttons placed along one side and I silently pressed my thumb to the first one on the right. The small button faintly beeped, letting me know it was operational as I slipped the device over my ring finger.

Bruce had called the device a "bat-magnet", a tool common only in the last couple of years and available only to those highest on the social ladder. Invented by non other than Bruce Wayne himself, the device had been used to improve transportation not only in Gotham City but the surrounding cities as well. Lex Luthor himself called the invention, "a work of genius" and that "Wayne Industries should be proud of their accomplishment." That is, before he declared the invention dangerous and confiscated all the devices and held them for government use only. Fortunately, Bruce Wayne kept some around for his own "personal" use.

The Bat-magnet instantly reacted to my body heat, quickly confirming from my skin DNA that I was indeed authorized. I knew if I had been anyone else, then the device would have self-destructed, leaving no evidence behind that it had ever existed at all and causing the wearer a pretty nasty headache as a result. I smiled. I should know. The first time I had seen the device, Bruce had tried to explain the security precautions that was programmed into the little thing and I had been reluctant to believe that the device could be so well guarded. Bruce had simply smiled and encouraged me to try it out and, being as gullible as a nine-year-old could be, I took the device and put it on. Instantly, the Bat-magnet lit up like a thousand light bulbs, the light blinding me. I screamed as it blew up in my hand and disintegrated into dust. I had seen spots for an entire week after that and Bruce, with that smug look on his face, had added my DNA to the magnet's memory.

I stared at the little ring. I knew I could have used a million other tools from the Bat-arsenal that would do the job more efficiently than the magnet would, but this one had a memory attached to it. Using it made me feel closer to Bruce and made the loss I felt easier to bear. I shook my head, sending my thoughts to the back of my mind. Now wasn't the time to be sentimental. I still had a job to do.

The voices I had heard before were louder now, as if they were shouting. _Must be an argument_, I thought. _But what are they fighting about?_ I didn't really want to burst in while they were so upset, but I had waited too long already. Tonight had to be the night. I checked the Bat-magnet, making sure it was firmly attached to my finger and wouldn't slip off, and suddenly felt my feet leave the ground. I looked down and saw that I was hovering a few inches off the ground, my boots dangling over the pine needles and dirt. I smiled. Man, I loved these toys.

I floated across the forest floor as silent as a ghost, never rising higher than a couple inches off the ground. This way, the noisy pine needles lay undisturbed by my boots, allowing my essential silence to be realized and my approach to the house undetected. The sensation was almost like flying, the Bat-magnet on my finger countering the magnetically strong force of gravity and allowing me to rise into the air. I knew I could never go any higher than about a foot above ground or else the repelling magnetic forces would disconnect and I would fall to the ground.

When I reached the edge of the yard, I slowly flicked a switch on the magnet and lowered myself to the ground. By now I could clearly make out the words that were being said inside the house. _Or_, I thought, wincing from a sudden rise in volume, _more like being shouted._

"I don't want you taking such dangerous risks, John!" A female voice yelled. I detected the anxiety behind her words, her fear clearly audible from where I stood.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" A younger male voice shouted back. "Sit here all day? Go to school like everything is honky-dory? I have to do something, Mom!"

_Ah_, I thought, _the wife and the son. But where is the father?_

"Why must you insist on putting yourself in danger?" The mother asked. What was her name again? Ah, yes. Lois. "Must you throw your life away?"

"I'm not going to just pretend everything's fine and try to live a normal life!" The son's anger rose. "It's not something Dad would've done!"

I could almost feel the anger drop from the air and deep sorrow take its place. I heard the mother start crying and the son guiltily rush to her side.

"Aw, Mom, don't cry." He tried to sooth. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. It's just… I have to do something, you know? I can't just let everything Dad fought for disappear."

My breath caught in my chest. Everything he _fought_ for? As in "in the past"? Over? He's… he's dead? _No,_ I silently gasped. _No, no, no, no! It can't be! It just can't!_

"I know you want to do the right thing." Lois sobbed. "That you have a responsibility. But I just can't loose you too. Not like I lost Clark."

I crept to the wall of the house and carefully peered through the kitchen window. The mother was leaned against the counter, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Her dark black hair scaled down her face, a few hairs moist from her tears. The son stood next to her, his hands on her shoulders, misery on his face. He had dark black hair, cut short to his ears, and a small curl resting on his forehead. His piercing blue eyes watered with tears though it was obvious he was trying to hide them.

"You won't loose me, Mom." He whispered to her. "You never could. But I have to do something. Luthor has destroyed people's lives. How can I stay in relative safety when so many others are suffering? I need to use my powers to help them, Mom. Or else, what am I?"

I watched as she raised her head and looked at him. "You're my son." She replied in one last desperate plea.

"I'm Dad's son too." He answered softly, and I knew the discussion was over. His mother seemed to know too because she burst into tears yet again. Her son held her in his arms as she cried, sorrow etched all over his face, but a steady determination in those blue eyes.

I turned away from the window, a couple tears of my own misting in my eyes. He was dead. Bruce's only trusted ally was dead. Just like the rest. I sat on the ground, the sheer weight of the disappointment crushing down on me. I placed my head in my hands. I was on my own. Anyone else I could have trusted was dead or dying. Bruce had singled out this man specifically, telling me he was mankind's only hope. That all I needed to do was ask him and he would help me, that I wouldn't be alone. Tears sprung out of my eyes as the hopelessness of my task set in. I was doomed. I had no chance at all. None.

I sat there for a long time, crying in the dirt and darkness. It seemed so pointless to try to leave or keep my presence a secret anymore. There was no point at all. I faintly listened to the sounds of the mother and son bidding each other goodnight and retiring to their beds. I listened, as their breathing became shallow and the son's snores broke through the night. When I was certain they were both asleep, I stood up and brushed the mud off my pants and jacket.

There was something I wasn't noticing. Something that I needed to know. What was the entire conversation about anyway? The son had tried something, something dangerous. What had he done? I ran the conversation through my mind. The son obviously thought whatever he had done would make a difference, a difference against Luthor. But why? Why did he care?

The answer seemed to hit me in the head. _His father!_ His father, the one and only Superman, the Man of Steel! Of course he cared, of course he would want to fight the fight his father did. Bruce's files had briefly mentioned a son, but I didn't think he was very relevant. I mean, big deal, Big Blue has a bouncing baby boy. Who cares? But now I realized his importance. The big man was gone, so that left the responsibility of the world to his son. What was his name again? Jack? Jake? _John!_ I thought. _Jonathon Kent, named after his grandfather._ I started pacing, my feet squishing in the mud. John did mention powers. Had he inherited the same powers as his father, even with a human mother? I glanced at the silent house. This was my only chance for an ally. He seemed perfectly willing to get into the fight, and if he had inherited the Kryptonian powers…

_No!_ I shouted at myself. _I can't do that. He's just a kid!_

But then, what was I?

_That's different,_ I argued. _I have a responsibility._

But so does he. His father died fighting for this mission, same as Bruce. Didn't John Kent deserve redemption as much as me? I checked the small digital watch on my wrist. It was nearly three in the morning. I shrugged. I had time.

Out of my belt, I pulled a small black cylinder and activated it with the press of a button. I had already memorized the house's blueprints before arriving, but it never hurt to refresh my memory. A glowing screen flashed in front of my face, revealing the detailed plans. I surfed through the design, looking for the most likely place for John to be sleeping. A small room at the back of the house caught my eye, and soon I was trudging through the mud to the backside of the house. As his snoring grew louder, my fingers quickly searched all the compartments of my belt, checking to make sure I had everything within reach in case things got ugly.

The sound of his snore was practically blaring by the time I reached his window, and I silently prayed that if he did want to help me in the mission that I would never have to sneak up on anyone with him along. He sounded like a dying elephant. I silently pulled the fame from his window away; careful not to make noise, but not really sure he could even hear an explosion through his snoring. I slipped through the open space, landing on a carpeted floor, my muddy boots silent on the fabric. The room was dark except for a small glowing light on the bed stand, and I quickly had to stifle a laugh. It seemed as if the Boy of Steel still slept with a nightlight. Like there was anything to be afraid of in the dark.

I cautiously tiptoed to his bedside, the small slivers of moonlight that filtered through the open window allowing me to just make out his features. The snoring was louder now that I was right next to him, and I swear I could have dropped a bomb in his face and he wouldn't have noticed. I squinted at his face, surprised at how normal he looked while he slept. I reached out a tentative hand to shake him awake, my finger inches from his shoulder, when I froze. Something wasn't right. Some small fact at the back of my mind was bugging me, alerting me to some danger. Something didn't make sense. Normally I would have ignored the feeling. I mean, what did I know? It probably was just nerves. But Bruce had taught me to listen to my instincts, and right then they were going crazy.

_Think!_ I told myself. _What have I missed?_ I ran the night through my mind. Had I triggered some trap I didn't see? Were there figures in the darkness I had failed to spot? I glanced around the small room, scanning for any sign of danger. What was it?

Suddenly, the realization dawned on me. I stared at the boy, sleeping soundly and undisturbed. And that was the problem. I silently cursed myself for not realizing it earlier. If John Kent had inherited his father's abilities, then he would have had super-hearing, not to mention x-ray vision. He should have _heard_ me coming from a mile away. He should have _seen_ me spying on them through the wall. He shouldn't be peacefully sleeping when an intruder has not only entered his house, but was standing over him. Even in his sleep, I _shouldn't_ _have been able to sneak up on him!_ My mind ran a mile a minute, searching for some explanation as to how this could be. When I found the answer, it was too late to do much about it as I heard the distinctive sound of a rifle being cocked behind me.

"Stay where you are." A voice behind me said shakily. "Or you won't have a head anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

_Idiot!_ I yelled at myself. _I forgot about Lois!_ I took a step back from John's bed, trying to show the worried mother that I wasn't going to hurt her son. My boots slid across something, and I casually looked down to see that my foot was entangled in dirty laundry. I grimaced. Was every boy this untidy? Gross. _Though,_ I thought with a small smile, _I can't really talk._ Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the barrel of a rifle, currently aimed at my head. I sighed. What a mess I had gotten myself into.

"Who are you?" She demanded, poking my head with the rifle, which, not surprisingly, twisted my hair painfully as I tried really hard not to flitch. "Talk! Now!"

Now, if you think about it, she had every right to ask that question. I was intruding in her home, and, with the abilities her son had, she was understandably over cautious. It was her home, her rules, right? I should just corporate and explain myself, right? Wrong. Maybe it was my fear talking, or perhaps it was just my stupid failure to anticipate Lois waking up and coming to her son's rescue, or just the overall hopelessness of my mission. I honestly don't know what set me off, but somewhere in those few seconds, I just snapped.

"What have you done to him?" I demanded through gritted teeth.

I could tell my question took her off-guard because it was a few moments before she responded. "I don't know what you're talking about." She said stiffly.

"Yes you do." I replied, my anger growing with every word. "What have you done to your son? Was it a chemical? Biological mutation? Or did you just use the radiation of a red sun? Does he even know?"

Groaning came from the bed and I could make out the form of the son sitting up. "Mom? Mom, what's…"

"Quiet!" She hissed at me. "You have no right to demand anything of me. You're invading my house!"

"And what about John's rights? Are you so scared of him that you directly defiled his powers?" I mentally put the pieces together. "It's in his food isn't it? Did Kent agree to this, Lois?"

"Who's that?" Panic was overcoming John's drowsiness and I knew he would come to his mother's defense if I didn't do something quick. "Mom? Whose there?"

"Nobody," Lois answered quickly. "You're only dreaming. Go back to sleep."

I laughed at that. "Really? You're going to play that one on him? Who falls for that anymore?"

"There's a girl here." John so brilliantly concluded. "Where are you? Let my mother go!"

I shook my head, Lois's rifle parting my hair. "She's the one holding me captive, boy. Is he blind, Lois? Tell me you didn't make him blind."

"Stay right where you are, John." Lois called over to him. "In a couple seconds there will be nothing left of her."

"So you are going to shoot me." I glanced at the barrel of the rifle. "Luthor would be so proud." I knew I needed to keep them both talking if I was going to live, but I also knew I still had to convince them that I was on their side. That was kind of hard to do when you're criticizing them.

I felt Lois stiffen. "I am nothing like him!" she shouted. "You're the slime that works for him! You're here to kill my son!"

I felt more than saw John move and before I could even blink, his hand was at my throat. His attack took me by surprise, but I couldn't even gasp, I had no breath. I saw his blue eyes glow angry in the dark, and through the darkness I made out his gray pajamas. I forced my brain to move. What was I going to do? There was no way I could fight a Kryptonian, even if his mother had dampened his powers. Not to mention the rifle Lois was still aiming at my head. I needed to gain control of the situation and fast, or I was dead.

Not surprisingly, my mind flashed on my memory of Bruce and his last few moments. The moments when I had tried so desperately hard to save him, and had failed. I was scared then, scared for him. And I was scared now. But, surprisingly, I wasn't scared for myself. I suddenly realized that I was scared for John and his mother. I worried that if I never got to tell them, to _warn_ them, then they would both be killed. Luthor would not rest until he had destroyed the last of Superman's legacy. And that meant murdering his son. I couldn't let that happen.

"Well?" Lois asked, her voice still trembling. "Aren't you going to explain yourself? Or do you not care at all about the people you are trying to kill?"

John stared at me, his anger seeming to grow within seconds. "Why are you here?" He demanded, shaking me with each word. "Tell us, now!"

I sucked in a breath of air, trying to calm my panic. If he kept shaking me, he would snap my neck in two before I could count to two. I had to focus. Bruce would know what to do. There must be something in my memory that could help me. Something I could use to escape. Something I could use to reason with them. Something that would give me an edge.

"I'm not here to kill you." I replied calmly, my voice sounding strained because of my lack of air.

"Then why are you here?" He demanded again, his grip loosening just enough so that I could breathe.

"We can't trust anything she says!" Lois exclaimed. "She works for Luthor!"

"We don't know that." John replied. "Let's just see what she says."

For a moment I was surprised that John was the sensible one and Lois was the paranoid one and not the other way around, but I quickly pushed the thought away. "I don't work for Luthor." I explained calmly.

"Then whom do you work for?" Lois asked, not sounding any less frightened then before.

"Let me show you." I answered, cautiously slipping my hand into one of the compartments on my belt. John watched my every move, his blue eyes glued to my hands. I closed my hand around a weapon that I had practiced with for hours on end, trying without much hope of succeeding to get it right. I knew this was my only chance. I just hoped that this time luck would be on my side. In one fluid movement, one I probably could never replicate again, I flicked my wrist and sent the weapon spinning towards my attacker.

"What the…" John started to say before the object clipped the skin of his right bicep. It barely made a cut, but surprise mixed with the pain and he dropped his hands from my neck as he cried out.

"John!" Lois cried. I barely heard her finger press on the trigger before I was moving. I instinctively dove to the floor, quickly slamming my elbow into John's knees sending him tumbling to the ground, just as the bullet passed over both our heads. _They always fire twice._ I could almost hear Bruce whispering the warning into my ear as I grabbed John's pajama shirt and yanked him towards his bed, just as Lois fired off three more shots in our direction. Acting only by instinct, I pushed over the bed stand and dragged John behind it, shielding us from the rapid firing bullets.

"Are you crazy?" I shouted over the sound of gunfire. "You're going to get us all killed!" Lois must have either not been able to hear or she simply ignored me because the bullets continued to blast against our small shelter. John rubbed his arm where my weapon had cut him.

"What's happening?" He asked, dazed by the sudden rush of events. He looked at me with fear glowing in his eyes. "Did you just save me?"

I rolled my eyes at him, even though I knew he couldn't see it in the dark. "Figure that out on your own, genus?" I scoffed. "No wonder your mom is such a lunatic, look what she has to put up with."

"John!" Lois screamed over the sound of bullets. "John, talk to me!"

I turned to him. "Tell her you're okay."

He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. "Or else what?"

My hands were at his collar before he knew what was happening.

"Or," I said, pulling him in so close that I saw the sweat beading on his brow. "You're mother will kill us both and the man who ordered the murder of your father will win. Is that a good enough reason for you?"

He slowly nodded, fear clouding his eyes. I released him and he quickly leaned away from me. _So much for making friends,_ I thought bitterly. The gunshots were starting to die down as Lois started to run out of bullets. When the noise was down to a level that we could speak, John called to his mother. "Mom! I'm okay! Stop shooting!"

The bullets immediately stopped blasting against the splintered remains of our shelter. "John? Is she still with you?" She asked. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. I nodded, urging him to keep talking.

"Yes, she's still here." He answered. "But I think she's okay."

_Really?_ I thought sarcastically. _What brought you to that brilliant conclusion?_

We stepped out from behind the tattered bed and looked around the room. It was still dark, but I still could make out the remains of the destroyed dresser and the closet looked like it had exploded. If I thought John's room was dirty before, then it was now a nuclear dump. The door in the corner hung from one hinge, the window I had come through was blasted to pieces, and everything was covered in bullet holes.

Before I could stop myself, I let out a whistle of awe. "You really have a lousy shot, Lois."

The rifle was pointed at me in seconds, directed by a very scared and angry mother, covered with sweat and glaring with eyes that obviously had no problem with shooting my head off. I sighed and raised my hands above my head. I'm pretty sure I inherited it from you, Dad. Why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut?


	3. Chapter 3

"Mom, wait!" John stepped in front of me, his hands held out to calm his mother. "I don't think she came here to hurt us." He glanced at me over his shoulder. "I think she wants to help us."

I stared at him in disbelief. Was he _helping_ me? His bedroom was in shatters and he was defending me? That can't be right. He couldn't actually be trying to make friends with me, could he? After everything I just did? I was absolutely certain that nobody was that trusting. But, as I stared into his clear blue eyes that were staring back at me, I realized he was. My first thought should have been, "_What an idiot!"_ mixed with anger and frustration. But, quite honestly, all I felt was gratitude. John was taking a big risk by trusting me, and I was certain he knew it, but I was thankful for it. I briefly wondered if this was what it was like when Bruce and Kent met all those years ago.

"I'm not here to hurt you." I clarified once again, stepping around John to face Mrs. Trigger-finger who still had not lowered the rifle. "I just came to talk."

"By breaking into John's room?" Lois asked skeptically. "How exactly is that talking?" I could tell she didn't trust me as fully as her son, but she lowered the gun anyway.

"I needed to speak with him." I replied, gesturing to John. "And obviously you both were on high alert. How was I supposed to talk at all when John could have fried me within an instant of seeing me?" I raised an eyebrow at Lois. "Or can he not do that now?"

She scowled at me. "You still haven't answered the question. Why are you here?"

I hesitated, glancing at John, his blue eyes big and curious. How could I destroy that innocence? How could I ask something of him that could lead to his death? Did I have the right to make that choice for him? It wasn't fair. He shouldn't have to get involved in this war. He shouldn't have to fight. _But_, I reminded myself. _Luthor killed his father. He has the right to do something about it, just as I do. _

"I came to ask for your help." I said quietly, allowing my gaze to drift from John to Lois and back again. "I was originally sent for Kent, I mean _Clark_ Kent, but it seems that his help is no longer available."

Lois lowered her gaze. "Yes," She sighed sadly. "He died years ago, a few weeks after John was born."

I nodded sympathetically. I knew what it was like to lose someone you cared about. "Why didn't you make contact after he died?" I asked. "Kent had many friends in the League still alive then. They could have helped hide you." I fought to keep the desperation out of my voice. _Why didn't you call Bruce?_

Lois shook her head. "I wasn't sure I could trust anyone from the League. Luthor had turned many of them into his own personal army. My only choice was to hide John myself, blend in with the other citizens. We use fake names outside of home and I move John to different schools twice a year so that no one could find out about his abilities."

John nodded in agreement. "I stay out of sports and clubs so that I don't attract attention. We've been hiding for years, so it's worked so far."

I shook my head. "But wasn't there someone you knew you could trust? Someone that Kent trusted? There must have been someone."

"No," Lois answered, her eyes brimming in tears. "We were on our own."

I sighed in frustration. Why wasn't Bruce good enough for them? Didn't they trust him? He had been searching for them for years, trying to help them! He hadn't even known his best friend was dead! Why had they ignored him? Why didn't they make contact?

"I'm sorry to hear that." I replied bitterly. "I had hoped someone here could help me, but it seems like you have everything under control. I'll just leave and you can go back to your happy little lives."

I turned towards the window, clicking a small button on my belt. There was a small humming noise, and then from somewhere inside the rubble my weapon zoomed up into the air and into my waiting hand. I was about to clasp it back into its compartment, when I heard John gasp. I turned, my hand hovering over my belt.

His blue eyes were locked on my hand. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, pure awe filling his voice.

I raised an eyebrow and turned to Lois. "Where did you get that?" she whispered, never taking her eyes off the weapon. I opened my hand, allowing the moonlight to reflect off the weapon. I held it carefully between my fingers, avoiding the sharpened wings that could chop my finger in half with little more than a scratch. It was comprised of a combination of metals, each adding its own strength and properties to the overall surface and all delicately separated to allow for its flexibility.

Bruce had often lectured me on the structure of the weapon, giving me reading material and his schematics on it. I had devoured the information greedily; stunned by the incredible simplicity of the thing and how useful it seemed to be in the field. I had practiced and mastered all 3, 486 maneuvers and tricks Bruce had designed, and even had invented some of my own. I had often wondered if he had created the weapon, not only because it was so useful, but also because it allowed some identity into his attacks and scares, a personal touch. Bruce had denied any connection to the design of the weapon and his personal ego, but still I had wondered. A smile slowly tickled at my lips as I watched both Kents gape at the weapon, and I realized that it obviously held some personality after all.

"You like it? My boss designed it." I replied, slowly clamping my hand around the weapon, careful not to cut myself on the sharp edges. I returned the weapon to my belt and started again for the window. I could feel their eyes follow me, burning holes into my back. I had to force myself not to giggle while I counted down in my head. _Three… two… one…_

"Wait!" I felt Lois grasp my arm. Her nails dug into my skin through my jacket and I had to bite my lip to keep from swatting her across the room. "We should at least hear what you have to say."

I turned and stared at her, narrowing my eyes. She backed off almost immediately, releasing my arm as she did so. Her eyes misted in fear and I could tell she hadn't expected my cold response. I looked over to John and saw him step back a couple of steps as well. It took every ounce of willpower I had to keep from crying out in triumph. _Who needs a cowl now?_ I thought. _Huh, Bruce? I have mastered your Bat-Glare and all without that mask you hide behind!_ The thought brought sadness again to my heart and I quickly pushed it aside.

"Alright," I said at last, pushing passed the debris on my way to the half-broken door. "Let's talk." I felt John and Lois follow, their footsteps sounding like thunder in the sudden silence. I smiled. I knew I was going to have to remember this night, log it into my beginning files and save this information for later. I briefly wondered if Bruce had ever known about the power and reputation his weapon had. But, as I had discovered before, it was amazing what a little Bata-'rang could do.

* * *

The Kents' living room was nothing like I had expected it to be. I mean, for a house with an entirely painted exterior and a design that was only used by those who are now dust, the inside was strangely… lively. Digital posters and old newspaper clippings were pasted all over the walls, covering up the old paint job. I leaned in close to one of the old articles and was not surprised to see it was written by Lois Lane. The picture of an article caught my eye and I couldn't help but smile at the floating man in a red cape that seemed to encompass all of Lois's writings.

"That was my father." A voice behind me said sadly, and I quickly turned around to see that John had caught me looking at the picture. His bright blue eyes were misted with used up tears and again I felt the guilt of having to bring him into such a horrible and impossible war as the one I had been drawn into. How could I warrant the possible loss for Lois of yet another family member? John was all she had left… Could I really take him away from her?

"He was very brave." I commented, trying to banish the dark thoughts from my mind. "It's a tragedy he isn't here now."

John nodded, his face twisted in a grimace of sorrow. He suddenly looked at me with a thoughtful expression. "He would have liked you, you know. You have so much in common."

"What do you mean?" I asked him, genuinely surprised that he would compare me to his father. He was the greatest superhero who had ever lived! How in the world was I like him?

He smiled weakly. "You have such determination, so much passion. My father would have done anything for someone in need, like you're here to help us now. He would have liked you."

I stepped back in surprise, practically stunned by what he had said. I quickly snapped out of it though, and then shook my head. "Me like Superman? You've got to be kidding. I'm nothing like him."

"Oh no?" John slowly smiled at me. "Then who are you like?"

My face suddenly fell. Sad memories swelled in my mind and, try as I might, I couldn't hide the mist that instantly clouded my eyes. I quickly turned away from him, desperate to conceal my sudden weakness, but I knew he had already seen.

I felt his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry." He said, that genuine sadness evident in his voice. "I said something wrong, didn't I? I didn't mean to cause you sadness."

I let out a strangled laugh through my tears. He sounded so much like a confused toddler, not sure what he did wrong, but completely sorry all the same. I felt him turn me around so that I was facing him again. I had suppressed most of my tears, so I forced myself to let him. Looking into his face, I saw such sympathy there that I could have smacked him so hard you would've been proud, Dad. He didn't ask me what was wrong. He didn't laugh and mock me. He didn't even smile. He did something much worse. Without a word, he pulled me into a huge hug, and that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part… was that I let him. I felt such a safety and warmth in his arms that I hadn't felt in years that I suddenly never wanted him to let go. And I hated myself for it. Was that how you felt, Mom? When you were with Dad? Did it feel like your head was going to explode and your face burned?

"Will you tell me your name?" He whispered into my ear, and his voice sounded so calming I almost answered. I almost opened my mouth and told him. Bruce would have killed me for letting myself get so close to breaking, to have allowed someone offer me safety and have almost accepted it. So I didn't tell him my name, I didn't tell him anything. The anger that built up inside me was so intense I could have punched him, but I didn't. I didn't do much of anything really. I was suddenly so tired from fighting two powerful urges inside me, that the only thing I could do was push him away. And I did.

He blinked at me in surprise as we parted, and I forced myself to look away. "We still need to talk." I mumbled, turning away from him. Lois suddenly appeared and ushered us towards the couches in the middle of the room. I sat down on one of the old sofas with them sitting across from me. Lois was looking at me with a look that could have been curiosity, and John was just plain staring at me. I shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, not very eager to begin my story.

I took a deep breath. "Well," I began, suddenly not sure about what I was going to say. "I guess I'll start from the beginning…"


	4. Chapter 4

I couldn't help but stare at her. She spoke with such a grace that you can only find in gifted story-tellers, that I found it hard not to be entranced by her voice. When she had broken into my room only about half an hour before, I would not have imagined that she could tell a story so well. True, she was telling a very sad story, but it didn't seem to matter as she talked. Each word seemed to flow from her mouth to the air and the attention she gave them all made it seem as if she had polished each one with her tongue until they shone.

Though, I had to admit to myself, her ability to speak wasn't the only reason I was staring at her. In fact, it wasn't even the main reason. Honestly, the real reason I was staring at her was her face. Have you ever imagined true beauty before? Have you seen it? Not until you've seen the redheaded girl my mom almost shot. I hadn't realized it in the darkness of my bedroom, but as we stepped into the living room, there was no way to miss it. Her long hair fell from her loose bun in tangled heaps, her face was covered in dirt, gun powder and mud and her clothes were stained with all of the above and more, but that didn't matter.

Honestly, if she had shown up on our doorstep, Mom and I would have mistaken her for a homeless beggar, there were so many nowadays, and would have taken her in to feed and clean her. That is, if it wasn't for her eyes. They were green, a deep green, and I swear they literally sparkled. They were not the eyes of someone beaten down and broken by hunger and cold, or someone desperate and lost. No, she had the eyes of someone with a purpose and the iron will to achieve that purpose. I had to smile at the memory of her smacking me to the ground in order save me from Mom's reckless bullets. She definitely had a grip to match her willpower and I was sure I would have the bruises for a while.

And that was why she was beautiful. When I looked at her, all I could see was the beauty of a girl, one who knew the odds and what was at stake but fought anyway. While she explained to Mom and I the reason she was here, I couldn't remove my eyes from her face, relishing every moment her green eyes fell on me.

That is, of course, part of the reason why I wasn't really listening to what she was actually saying. The other part was that I was still trying to figure out what had happened in front of my dad's picture. It was confusing to say the least, and I wasn't at all sure what I had did or said to make the strong, confident girl to suddenly have misty eyes. I inwardly kicked myself for being such a big idiot as to have hugged her. I mean, what was that going to accomplish? Now she probably hated me. But no matter how big a mistake it was, I couldn't forget the feeling. I felt the need to protect her, to hold her, to _love_ her.

Mom had often told me about her and Dad. About how deeply they loved each other and how completely they trusted one another. She would always smile dreamily as she told of how he would her in his super-strong arms and whisper to her that she was his life, his world, the reason he could go on. I had often wondered what that would feel like, having someone that close to you. Maybe that was why I had pulled her close, why I had asked her for her name. But the _feeling_. Was that how Dad had felt holding Mom?

I looked over at Mom, her eyes intently fixed on the girl, drinking in every word she said. I had promised myself long ago that I would use my powers to protect her, to never let anything happen to her, like Dad had. But now I felt something new, something almost sweet. I turned my gaze back to our visitor and I felt the feeling wash over me again. I wanted so desperately to rush over to her and hug her again, to wipe away any of her tears and tell her everything was going to be alright. What could this feeling mean?

"So," The girl was finishing, "You can see why I had to come. There was just no other way."

"And you say you work for Batman?" Mom asked, clearly paying more attention than I was.

The girl's eyes lowered to the ground and I saw with surprise that flash of sadness I had seen earlier. "Work_ed_, actually."

"Wait," I spoke up for the first time. "You don't mean he's-"

She looked at me with that same sadness, tears filling up her eyes. "For a couple of months now."

"That's what we had thought." Mom said, flashing a small smile of sympathy to her. "Clark did too. We didn't know he had survived this long."

The girl shrugged. "It's his job to survive."

"And what about you?" Mom asked. "How do you fit into this?"

The girl tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "In some ways, the same way you do. Bats trained me, taught me everything I know. I wasn't his sidekick though; he had made that clear enough. He told me he needed someone to carry on the mission after he was gone and all his kids were dead." She shook her head. "He had loved them very much, you know. It nearly killed him when they didn't make it through Luthor's rampage."

"Are you related to him?" I asked and was pleasantly surprised when she laughed.

"You mean, am I young Mistress Wayne? Nope, sorry."

"Then how do you know him?" Mom asked. "Did he pick you off the streets or something?"

"Na," The girl replied. "Who's safe on the streets? I would be bulldozer meat by now."

"Well," I said thoughtfully. "How _do_ you know him?"

The sadness was still there when she replied, "He raised me."

"Why?" was Mom's question.

Sighing and seeming so sad that I desperately wanted to run over and comfort her, the girl answered, "Because he's kind of my grandfather."

Mom gasped. "You mean…"

"Yeah," She answered, a small smile on her face. "My name is Martha Grayson, daughter of Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson, a.k.a Oracle and Nightwing, protégés to the Dark Knight."


End file.
